


Struck

by Bitterblue



Category: Monster Blood Tattoo Series - D. M. Cornish
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitterblue/pseuds/Bitterblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate origin story for Licurius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Struck

It builds slowly, an uncomfortable weight in her abdomen. She would be at a loss to describe it if anyone had ever asked, but Licurius never has and Madigan already knows, and there are vanishingly few other people who dare to speak to her as if she is their equal. The Duke might have asked, once, but there are others he could beg audience of instead if he ever found himself struck with curiosity for the internal workings of the fulgarine set.

It builds slowly, almost a sense of foreboding more than a physical sensation, heavy and incorporeal. After a certain point, it becomes sensation trickling up her nerves towards her fingertips and toes, hairs standing on end as if she were cold. It isn't cold, but it isn't hot, either. It's a thousand painless pin-pricks on every inch of her skin. It builds between her palms, collecting there like weightless, unseen dew. 

The release is not slow. It is not comfortable. No one speaks of how she can feel the other creature's life at the end of it, the twisted mass of energy that she forces to bend to her will and into the ground. She can feel every nerve and fibre of their being, twisting to escape her range and rage, and it is sometimes still too fast for her to control properly. The rush of it has its own momentum outside of her will, wanting to burn and destroy when she'd rather let it escape in small, painful doses. 

It was worse when she was newly made and had precious little control. She spent six months nearly alone while she learned the signs of it and how to feel for the edges of herself to reign it in. Even then, she had not yet become good.

Europe glances from the lowering clouds to the back of Licurius's head to the boxthorns lining the road.

"We should stop here tonight. There's something lurking out to the east. I can smell it. It smells funny."

"Very well. Stop where you like and we'll sleep out. I'll want my plaudamentum soon, anyway."

When they've stopped, he hands her down from the carriage, and she notices the flinch when she touches his side. Six months of being nearly alone, and she had thrown herself at him in delight when he came to her, sthenicon not yet unfastened in his haste. 

It's curious, that she should have no words to describe the feel of striking. He has never offered any on the feel of being struck. Or, for that matter, stuck.


End file.
